


From a Sniper's Perch

by SilverWolfPup



Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Death, Fire, Gen, Terror Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7774675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWolfPup/pseuds/SilverWolfPup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sharpshooter is supposed to see and shoot from a distance, but Terror missions always prevented the comfort that came with being able to compartmentalise. Even a sharpshooter can die when forced into the range of aliens, and even worse than that threat is the fire and the screaming.<br/>It never ends, but still they must continue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From a Sniper's Perch

Fire hissed and crackled, snarling hungrily and casting molten shadows over everything. The stink of burning flesh and wood got everywhere, crawling into the squad's hair, their armour. In the distance something exploded – the dull boom rocked the camp, and only terrible familiarity with the phenomenon let Lieutenant Eleanor ‘Angel’ Whitehill keep her aim from wavering. In the distance plasma flashed green, _boom boom boom_ , and a despairing scream of pain filled the air. Eleanor carefully kept rage from overwhelming her, and compensated for her target’s movement. The Commander snapped, “Shoot!” and Angel’s finger closed on the trigger.

Armour-piercing rounds pierced the skull of an Advent Shieldbearer, and it was dead before it hit the ground. Eleanor allowed herself a smile, now that it wouldn’t disturb the shot. “Good,” the Commander said in her ear, already distant as their brilliance shifted to the next problem - one that didn’t involve her.

Angel surveyed the field, now that she had a moment. It was hard to see in the smoke, and the fire lent a hellish nightmare bent to the scene. To the northeast Vipers appeared with a hiss, raising their guns to shoot at them, taken out by Warden's overwatch. Three bullets each, and they were down. To the south Kelly ran for a civilian, her orders for them to "Run!" audible only over the radio. The order was joined by her sword darting out to sever a Sectoid, and the psionic energy the alien had tangled around their Grenadier faded without even a parting _whoosh_. 

Plasma hissed, a deadly sizzle, and Angel ducked for the low cover of the rails, hissing curses at whoever made the decision not to put proper cover on the roof. She gritted her teeth against the sting of the plasma bolt’s graze, and let instinct take over. Her right hand dropped the sniper rifle and went to her belt and the pistol holstered there; her left arm held the full weight of the rifle with only a twinge from overworked muscles. The same instinct that eased the first motion turned her in the direction from which the bullets came, where the Muton still stood in the open – she aimed, shot, and ducked back behind cover. The roar of rage told her she didn’t miss. The sound was cut off by the crackle of cannon fire, and Angel settled back into the sniper’s perch, trusting her squadmates to keep her safe and spot her targets.

The screaming settled into background noise as Kelly rattled off the coordinates of a Codex, and Angel caught the thing in her scope just as it raised its glowing green gun, gaze focused on where Kit was lunging for another Sectoid; Angel head-shotted it, and the thing collapsed into nothing more than a skull with a wailing scream.

It was getting to a temperature crueler than merely uncomfortable, but Angel was busy setting up a new shot – only the Commander snapping, “Angel! Drop down!” got her off the roof before it collapsed. Eleanor looked up from behind low cover to watch her perch crumble into black dust, the fire roaring at being cheated of its prize. Her radio implant hummed with the constant exchange of orders and information, the Commander’s voice interwoven with the squad’s every heartbeat as they shot and ran and tried not to flinch from the constant screaming.

Eleanor set her jaw, and Angel moved off at a run to hunt for a new perch, pistol taking a tithe of pain from every alien to cross her path as she wove her way through the battleground, ducking behind cover and avoiding the explosive objects with practiced ease.

Everyone hated Terror missions, Eleanor most of all, but for all that they flinched from the screams not one of them would turn from their duty, even with blood trickling down their battered armour and pain threaded through every bit of their stubborn determination. The Commander would save humanity, and they were all the Commander’s tools. They would not fail, lest they take a piece of the Commander’s weight on their own shoulders, and they all knew, deep in their souls, that that weight would break them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you like it.


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